In Buenos Aires, he saw it as his mission to do whatever he could to see that Argentina declared war on the Allies, and if that proved impossible, that Argentine neutrality be tilted as much as possible to the advantage of Germany.
"Wait here," he ordered his driver. "I will be back directly."
The doorman was displeased. There was room for only three or four cars under the hotel arcade. Because Gradny-Sawz's Mercedes blocked one of the spaces, the traffic flow would be impeded. But there was nothing he could do. The Mercedes carried the CD insignia and Corps Diplomatique license plates. Diplomatic status gave one the privilege of parking wherever one elected to park.
Gradny-Sawz marched into the lobby and stopped by the desk to inquire as to Standartenf?hrer Goltz's room number. When he had it, he ordered, in not very good Spanish, "Be so good as to inform the Standartenf?hrer that I am on my way up. I am First Secretary Gradny-Sawz of the German Embassy."
"I know who you are, Se?or Gradny-Sawz," the desk clerk said in a tone that bordered on the insulting.
Gradny-Sawz climbed the second flight of stairs and entered the elevator.
When Gradny-Sawz knocked, Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein opened the door to Goltz's suite.
Gradny-Sawz was relieved to see that von Wachtstein was in full dress uniform, complete to the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross hanging around his neck. He was sometimes negligent about this. Gradny-Sawz was willing to grant him the benefit of every doubthe was, after all, a fellow noblemanbut sometimes he seemed unable to grasp that he was now assigned to diplomatic duties, with concomitant responsibilities vis-a-vis dress and other matters of protocol.
"I hope you have been taking very good care of Standartenf?hrer Goltz, Hans-Peter," Gradny-Sawz said.
"I have been doing my best," Peter said. "I thought we would see you at the Residence."
Goltz came out of the sitting room, curious to see who was at the door. Anton Gradny-Sawz raised his right arm in the Nazi salute.
"Heil Hitler!" Gradny-Sawz barked.
"Anton, my old friend!" Standartenf?hrer Goltz cried happily, went to him, and embraced him. "You're just in time. Major von Wachtstein and I just opened a bottle."
"Josef," Gradny-Sawz said, taking Goltz's arm as they walked into the sitting room, "if you had not become so important, the Ambassador would have told me it was you arriving, and I would have been at the airport with a bottle of champagne, to take you to my house."
"I know you would have," Goltz said. "But security . . ."
"Well, at least we'll move you out of here tonight," Gradny-Sawz said. "I'll have von Wachtstein take care of it."
"Will it wait until tomorrow? I'm just a little worn out."
"Moving may wait, but what we might find when we get there tonight, Josef, might not be there tomorrow."
Goltz took his meaning.
"I thought you might be getting too old for that sort of thing, Anton."
"God, I hope not!"
"In that case, I think I just may have to impose on the already abused Freiherr von Wachtstein."
"Sir?" Peter asked, coming into the room and hearing his name.
"Hans-Peter," Gradny-Sawz ordered, "would you see that the Standartenf?hrer's luggage is packed and moved to my home?"
"Yes. Sir."
"The Standartenf?hrer and I are old and dear friends," Gradny-Sawz said. "We can't have him staying in a hotel."
"Yes, Sir."
"And be so good as to call my houseman and tell him we'll be there directly after paying our respects at the Edificio Libertador, and to make sure everything is in order when we arrive."
"Yes, Sir," Peter said. "I was just about to introduce the Standartenf?hrer to the very fine native champagne."
"Well, by all means, continue," Gradny-Sawz said. "It's quite good. It's not a good German Sekt, of course, but every bit as good as any French I've ever had."
Peter poured the champagne.
"Welcome to Argentina, Josef!" Gradny-Sawz said, touching his glass to Goltz's, and then, after a moment, to von Wachtstein's.
"Hear, hear," von Wachtstein said.
"Nice," Goltz said, tasting the champagne.
"Their wine is nice, and so is their beer," von Wachtstein said. "And their beef! Magnificent!"
"And so, according to Oberst Per?n, are the women?" Goltz said. "Or were you just being diplomatic, von Wachtstein?"
"No, Herr Standartenf?hrer, I was not being diplomatic. Their women are magnificent."
"Aryan?"
"I never thought about that before," von Wachtstein said. "I'm not sure where the Spaniards and the Italians fit in as Aryans. The majority here are Spanish or Italian. Some Germans, some English, even some Slavs. Poles, for example."
"If I were you, von Wachtstein, I don't think that I would take some Spanish or Italian beauty home to Poppa in Pomerania."
Von Wachtstein laughed.
"I'm not ready, Herr Standartenf?hrer, to take some Berlin blonde of impeccable Aryan background home to my father."
"Nor would I if I were in your shoes. Enjoy life while you can. Before you know it, you'll be as old as Anton here."
Anton Gradny-Sawz's smile was strained.
"I think we had better leave," he said. "It's time."
"I'll see that the Standartenf?hrer's things are packed, and take them to your residence, and then come to the Residence."
"You're a good man, von Wachtstein," Goltz said, smiling at von Wachtstein and touching his arm.
He went to the mirror by the door, put on his black brimmed cap with the death's-head insignia, and adjusted it twice before he was satisfied.
Peter closed the suite door after them, helped himself to another glass of champagne, and waited for the maid's knock. When she arrived, he showed her what he wanted done. He then told her he had business in the lobby and would wait for the luggage in the lobby bar, and left the room.
When he got on the elevator he told the operator to take him to the roof garden. Once there, he stood in the line waiting before the maitre d'hotel's table. And when he reached the head of the line, he replied to the maitre d's surprised look at seeing him both in uniform and alone by announcing he had to make a quick telephone call.
The maitre d' picked up the telephone. Peter gave him a number, which the maitre d' repeated, then handed the receiver to Peter.
"This is the Duarte residence," a male voice announced.
"Se?orita Alicia, please," he said. "Se?or Condor is calling."
"I will see if the lady is at home, Se?or," the butler said.
He didn't know if there were listening devices on the Duarte line; there might be. There were almost certainly listening devices on the line in Goltz's hotel room. But even if someone was listening to the Duarte line, no suspicions would be aroused, unless Alicia, in her naivet?, said something she should not. He had arrived in Buenos Aires speaking fluent Spanish. Since then he had worked very hard to acquire the Porteno (Buenos Aires Native) accent and idiom. Condorwhich they had chosen as a nom d'amour from the Argentine national bird, and because he was a pilotwas a fairly common name. It was unlikely that any telephone monitor would find one more call from a young man to Se?orita Alicia Carzino-Cormano suspicious, or that Se?or Condor was a German officer.